


Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me

by extasiswings, letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Archeologist AU, But Did I Mention They're Idiots, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Completely One-Sided Rivalry, Geddit? Geddit?, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Idiocy Bigger than the Pyramids of Giza, Idiots in Love, M/M, Machu Picchu is a Marvel of Civilization and These Two are a Marvel of Stupidity, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Questionable Locations for Sexual Encounters, Rivals to Lovers, That Really Isn't Hate Sex, The Eighth Wonder of the World: Buck's Ability to Misinterpret Everything, The Joys of Academia, There are Layers of Dirt and Layers of Dumbassery and They Live in the Mesozoic, Treasure Hunting, Wow That's Not a Tag Already?, disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Evan "Buck" Buckley has made a name for himself as the independent bad boy of archaeology. At least, until Professor Eddie Diaz shows up with his fedora and good looks and starts beating Buck to the punch more often than not.Buck hates his stupid six-pack covered guts.Except for how... he might not.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 389





	Carbon Date Me, Excavate Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea. An aesthetic, really. extasiswings shamelessly encouraged me, then kindly wrote all the good parts of this. And hey, wonder of wonders, it's our first collaboration that's under 50k.

It’s times like these where Buck kind of wonders if he was crazy to ditch the family business and focus on Central and South America. Right now, he could be in nice, shaded forests in Eastern Europe, or a cool medieval castle in the Scottish Highlands.

Instead, his clothes are so wet they feel like he dumped them in water. There’s sweat on top of and underneath the layer of dirt stuck to him. The backs of his knees, the inside of his elbows, the soft spot under his ears, all itch something fierce.

 _Someday,_ Bobby always says every time Buck comes back from a trip, _someday you’re going to die out there because you’re too damn stubborn to take a partner with you._

Today’s not that day, because he knows where he is, and he’s got his satellite phone, and Bobby knows his schedule. He’s not going to end up pulling a 72-hours here. And all of his sweat and exhaustion and grime is going to be worth it when he, and he alone, finds the…

Tracks.

There are _tracks_ in the dirt ahead of him.

Buck does not groan, he doesn’t, because he’s a mature adult. But he swears to God, if that son of a bitch got to the treasure before he did…

He follows the tracks, not because of them but because he just happens to be going the same way as the tracks do, up a hairpin turn in the jut of the mountain, off any kind of proper path and into something that only goats could traverse—if there were goats in this desert.

The tracks turn away at one point, and Buck heaves a sigh of relief. He’s still going to get there first.

He turns a different way, following his coordinates, until he hits pure rock and has to climb. Now, the cave should be just… here.

He pulls himself up, dusts off his palms (not that it makes much of a difference) and steps into the thin entrance, entering cool darkness.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust as he stumbles forward to where the cave widens and slopes downward.

And that’s when he realizes he’s not alone.

Buck freezes. “No.”

Eddie Diaz, Edmundo motherfucking Buck-doesn’t-know-his-middle-name Diaz, stands up and smirks. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“No. No, no, no.” This is not happening. This bastard is not getting to the treasure first, not this time.

“Y’know, no matter how many times you say that, I’m not just gonna disappear,” Eddie points out.

Buck hates his stupid handsome six-pack-covered guts.

Said six pack is currently just barely visible underneath the thin button-up shirt that’s plastered to him from the sweat. The top few buttons are undone, revealing his chest and the bead of sweat working its way down the hollow of his throat, and his stupid, _stupid_ fedora is sitting slightly tilted on his head. He probably moved it that way on purpose to look especially good when Buck ran into him, the jackass.

Eddie Diaz—Associate Professor of Central and South American Anthropology—has been the biggest pain in Buck’s ass for the last few years. When Buck said _sayonara_ to his parents (with an underlayer of _fuck you_ ) and decided to focus on pre-colonial Americas instead of the Templars (Mom) and Nazi-stolen artifacts (Dad), he failed to factor in _this dick_.

“Still got the whip, I see,” Eddie adds, gesturing. “You should’ve told me ahead of time it was that kind of meet-up.”

Buck always has the whip. Yes, maybe he watched _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ one too many times as a kid. And yes, he knows there is no logical reason for him to have a whip on digs and when he’s climbing mountains and hacking through the jungle to find lost caches and temples and villages. But it’s his thing, okay? And he doesn’t appreciate Eddie mocking it.

Because oh boy, does he mock it. Every. Single. Time.

 _Hey now, the whip’s a third date kind of thing,_ said on their very first encounter.

 _Aww, third date, you remembered!_ That was their third run-in.

 _Play nice, or I’ll use that on you,_ growled during a bad day on their sixth run-in when they’d both been at the ends of their ropes for unrelated reasons and the presence of the other was just fuel to the fire.

Point is, Eddie makes fun of him for the whip and it’s just one of the many, many reasons that Buck hates him.

“Didn’t know I’d be meeting you at all,” Buck snaps.

Eddie puts his hands up in surrender. “Hey, academics talk, you know how it is.”

“So, what, you heard Bobby hired me to go after this and decided, _hey, why not show Buck up? I’ve got nothing going on this weekend?_

Eddie snorts and folds his arms. It makes the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt pull taut against his biceps and shoulders.

The desert heat really is getting to Buck—his mouth has gone annoyingly dry.

“You can be a brat as much as you want,” Eddie replies. “I still beat you here. Point goes to me.”

“But you wouldn’t even know how to get here, you wouldn’t even be interested, if it wasn’t for me,” Buck shoots back.

He takes a few steps in and around, without even thinking about it. Eddie mirrors him, stepping in, so that they’re circling like wolves.

“Technically, I could race you there. Doesn’t count unless you touch it first.”

“If there’s anything down there.”

“You doubting me, Professor Diaz?” He kind of likes calling Eddie by his title sometimes. Not sure why.

Eddie gives a tilt-shake of his head. “Never.”

Buck’s now the one closer to the point where the cave drops down sharply, while Eddie’s closer to the entrance.

He seizes his chance and runs for it.

There’s a startled _fuck_ behind him as Eddie dashes after him, the two of them crashing into each other and rushing, stumbling, scraping their way down into the cave, tumbling like unruly puppies, until they land in a heap on the lower floor of the cave.

Eddie’s hat has been knocked off. His hair looks soft.

Buck’s not sure why he thinks that.

“Asshole,” Eddie pants. He’s sprawled on top of Buck, heavy and firm. Buck suddenly can’t breathe.

Buck shoves at him until Eddie rolls off. Then the bastard gets to his feet and offers a hand to Buck.

Ugh. Fine. Whatever.

Buck takes Eddie’s hand and lets Eddie help yank him to his feet. The guy’s hand is covered in calluses, and the tips of his fingers look ink-stained, like he came here straight from grading papers.

He’s well aware that just about every single one of Eddie’s students (and quite a few colleagues) have wild crushes on the professor. It annoys Buck because… well, because the guy’s muscling in on Buck’s spot, that’s why. Buck’s made a name for himself as the handsome wild child of the profession, he doesn’t need everyone swooning over Eddie. Even if Eddie is strong and broad and has nice stubble and soft, warm eyes and an ever-so-slightly sharp-toothed lopsided smile.

Anyway.

Buck pulls his hand away. “You started it.”

Eddie scoffs. “Oh, _I_ started it?”

“Sorry, which one of us challenged the other to find the Fenn treasure?”

“I challenged you to find the treasure,” Eddie says, deadpan. “Yeah. That’s what happened.”

The Fenn treasure was a treasure hidden in the ‘80s by an eccentric rich guy who then used a poem as a treasure map, challenging people to follow the clues in the poem to find it. It’s a chest filled with gold and jewels, the usual stuff, and back in 2018 when Eddie challenged Buck to compete to find it, the treasure hadn’t yet been found.

When someone did find it, last September, Buck ignored the weird empty achy feeling in his chest. Even though the person left the treasure so that others could find it, it still felt oddly like something had been taken from him, some tiny thing he didn’t even know he had until it was gone.

He ignores that feeling.

Usually, Eddie backs off. This is how their dance works. Buck presses and pokes and pushes, and Eddie gives a firm shove in return and then backs away. It’s a level of self-control that Buck’s not quite reached, an ability to rein himself in.

Buck’s never been very good at that. He’s all in, on everything, to his benefit or his detriment. Usually the latter, at least recently. Abby, the failure of her, still haunts his thoughts.

(It might be why he started going out more and more, way out into the desert or jungle alone, only stopping by the university when he had to.)

(It might be the reason he was out there to run into Eddie in the first place.)

But instead of backing away like usual, shutting Buck down with a dry remark and a single flat look, Eddie does the opposite. After staring for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, he steps right up into Buck’s space, challenging, jaw tense.

“Is that really what you think happened?” Eddie asks. No, demands. “That’s what you think I was doing?”

Buck puffs his chest out and steps forward as well, because he’s never one to back away from a challenge. “I know that’s what you were doing.”

Eddie does that half-shake thing with his head again, eyes gold like treasure as they spark with frustration. “Seriously, _what_ is your problem?”

“You,” Buck replies instantly. “You’re my problem.”

There’s treasure ten feet away from them, close enough for him to just stroll up and touch, but Buck doesn’t care about it. It might as well not be there. All he can see is Eddie.

Somehow, that translates to them kissing.

He really doesn’t know who started it, or how it began. All he knows is that next thing his back is hitting a wall and it’s out of nowhere and feels kind of like a baseball bat to the head but also feels like they’ve spent the last three years heading to this point, that this long, twisting, pothole-filled road was inevitable for them. This was the only destination they could’ve ended up.

The first thing he notices: Eddie kisses like molten gold.

It’s hot and frantic but solid, thick, inescapable. It’s visceral and indulgent, even as they claw and scratch at each other.

And boy, does he scratch. He attacks Eddie’s shirt like it’s personally offended him until he manages to rip it open and shove it back, off, off, _off,_ Eddie’s chest and shoulders bare for Buck’s greedy hands.

He wants to find the places where Eddie’s skin is smooth, where it’s rough, where it’s scarred. He leans back and tilts his hips up and away from the wall, putting himself at an angle so that he can finally get his hands on Eddie’s stomach, feel the muscles bunching and heaving with Eddie’s ragged breaths.

Eddie’s never been one to miss an opportunity, and he immediately latches his mouth onto Buck’s newly-exposed neck. Buck moans at the sharp sting as Eddie bites his jaw, then sucks at the underside, creating what Buck already knows will be a vicious and large hickey. The thought makes his cock jerk, and if his underwear wasn’t already sticking to him from the sweat it’d be sticking to him now for other reasons.

There have been moments where Buck’s felt like Eddie could read his mind, or vice versa, moments where they’ve guessed the conclusion the other’s just come to, or figured out a clue, or known where the other one was going to go next. Now is one of those moments, as Buck slides his hands around to Eddie’s lower back and digs his nails in at the same moment that Eddie uses his hips to shove Buck back against the wall again, and Buck’s now at the perfect angle to lick the sweat right off Eddie’s throat.

Eddie’s thigh is lodged between Buck’s, now, shoved right up against his cock, and Buck pulses with the friction, grinds down mindlessly. The noise he makes, the _whine_ he makes, is obscene and he knows it, as he finally gets his tongue and teeth on all the places on Eddie’s body he’s told himself for three years he hasn’t been staring at.

He’s pretty damn sure Eddie likes it by the way Eddie’s thrusting against him, but then Eddie lets out a long groan and seizes a fistful of Buck’s hair, yanking him away. Buck’s going to protest that you don’t just fucking manhandle him like that (no matter how hot he finds it) when Eddie’s nimble fingers, fingers that hold pottery shards and gold statues with equal reverence and care, make short work of Buck’s belt buckle and pants zipper.

Oh.

“Yeah,” Buck blurts out. It’s all he can say. “Yeah, yeah, _fuck_ yeah—”

His pants get shoved down, his cock bobbing free, and then Eddie’s undoing his own pants. Buck doesn’t help by pressing himself up against him and clawing at Eddie’s back, wrapping his lips (and teeth) around Eddie’s collarbone.

Those stupid collarbones peek out of his shirts all the time because Eddie never does them up all the way. Now he’ll have a bruise there so he’ll _have_ to do the top buttons. Ha.

Eddie swears violently, gets his pants undone, spits in the palm of his hand and oh wow those cargo shorts were really hiding a nice package, Buck’s impre—

Eddie wraps his hand around their cocks and Buck’s knees turn to water.

Buck’s head hits the wall again, painfully, making him see stars, but Eddie’s mouth latches around the spot where his pulse is thundering in his neck so it’s fine. It’s better than fine. It’s—he’s—fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

“I hate that you’re good at this,” he manages to grit out.

His pants have been shoved down enough to expose his ass and Eddie has no problem smacking it with a growl, like he’s warning Buck, and Buck fucking _jolts_. “Fuck!”

“Do you _ever_ stop being a brat?” Eddie demands.

Buck would respond but Eddie shoves his tongue down Buck’s throat and, well, Maddie always told him not to talk with his mouth full.

Absolutely pathetic whimpers are escaping the back of Buck’s throat, his hips thrusting in delicious and annoyingly synchronized rhythm with Eddie’s, and he can’t think of a single smart remark, can’t think of a way to gain the upper hand, he can only scratch stripes down Eddie’s back and fuck and fuck and fuck and oh fucking God yes please there _there_ —

He comes with a whine, and Eddie whispers an oddly reverent _holy fuck_ and follows.

They pant into each other’s mouths, pressed together from ankle to shoulder, foreheads resting against one another. Buck can feel the sweat and come sticking them together on their stomachs, can feel Eddie’s skin vibrating under his fingertips, can feel his chest contracting every time Eddie’s expands for a new breath.

Their eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see it, but he still somehow knows when Eddie tilts his head. Buck tilts his own in response, and they not-quite-kiss, tongues sliding together. Eddie’s hand is on the back of Buck’s head, meaning his knuckles take the brunt of the damage from the wall. It’s oddly sweet.

Buck’s eyes open. Eddie’s are still closed, and Buck deliriously wonders if he can count Eddie’s eyelashes.

Then Eddie looks at him and gives him a ghost of a smirk. “I still beat you here.”

If anyone asks—not that Buck wants them to—that’s the reason he doesn’t talk to Eddie for another six months.

* * *

_Six Months Later_

Eddie is drunk. That is his excuse. Well, that and the fact that his best friend is evil, which is why he has deliberately avoided letting her get him drunk and loose-lipped even as his mood has gone south more and more since he returned from his last expedition. 

But Christopher is visiting his cousins in Arizona for two weeks and Eddie finished submitting final grades for the spring semester, so when Lena insisted on going out under the guise of celebrating, he didn’t have a ready excuse to say no. 

Which is how he ended up in his current position, sprawled across Lena’s porch swing at 1AM as she stares at him with raised eyebrows, the stars above swirling with his vision while the whole story comes tumbling out and he complains—

“I just don’t understand why he didn’t call!”

The thing is, Eddie’s had more than a bit of a thing for Evan Buckley since before they met, when he stumbled on a National Geographic profile on “the rising star of archaeology” and got a little breathless over blue eyes and biceps and a mouth that looked like sin. And maybe that thing developed into a full blown crush when they met for the first time and Eddie realized that Buck was even prettier when worked up and snarky and competitive than polished and smiling for a camera. 

Years later, even Eddie is forced to admit his crush has long since taken on a life of its own, as he’s discovered that Buck isn’t just coasting on his trust fund and family name, that he really does care, that part of the reason he works freelance instead of officially joining a university is because he doesn’t want to take a position away from an academic who doesn’t have independent means—someone like Eddie himself, who fell into the field by accident when he took a summer job during high school and scraped by on scholarships and good will after his mentors decided he had a gift and supported him through college so he wouldn’t follow most of his classmates into the military. And okay, sure, maybe he hasn’t been as explicit with his words as he maybe could be, but he’s always flirted with Buck and Buck has flirted back, and he asked Buck to go to the Rockies with him to look for the Fenn treasure as some half-baked idea of a romantic getaway, and they finally had _sex_ and he thought it meant something and really didn’t think he could get much clearer than that, but—

But it’s been six months. And radio silence. No emails, phone calls to his office line—Eddie can acknowledge that they’ve never exchanged cell phone numbers, but his contact info is right there in his faculty bio—no letters, carrier pigeons, or smoke signals. Nothing. 

Lena stares for a moment longer in silence before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Right,” she sighs. “Okay. Question—and I know I probably already know the answer to this, but—did you ever actually _tell_ him you wanted him to call? Did you say that it meant something to you?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I don’t have casual sex, Lena, of course it meant something.”

“Yes, but while _I_ know that about you, keep in mind that most people _do_ in fact have casual sex with people they don’t necessarily want to date and also that as far as I can tell, you and Buckley never graduated from the pulling pigtails school of flirting, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable for him to think it was just a one-off.”

Eddie turns his head and squints at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

She snorts. “I am on your side. However, I also happen to be on the side of critical thinking, by which I mean—I will gladly listen to all of your romantic woes as long as there is something to actually be woeful over.”

That’s—that’s just—

Eddie opens his mouth to argue, but can’t seem to find the words. 

“I don’t—I mean, I—” He sighs. “What am I supposed to do?”

Lena gets up from her own chair and claps him on the shoulder as she makes her way to the screen door.

“Put on your big boy pants, get his number, and call him yourself. Try using your words this time instead of your dick,” she suggests. “Although, in the morning maybe. Right now I’m getting you some water—try not to fall off the swing while I’m gone.” 

Eddie makes a low noise of distaste. It’s not that he doesn’t know she’s right. But there’s a reason he hasn’t asked flat out, has hidden behind flirting and innuendo and action. 

Because at the end of the day, he doesn’t need to hear Buck say anything—he knows he’s not enough. What can he really give to someone who already has everything? Money and respect and access and brains—

It’s not like Eddie’s got a great track record with making relationships work anyway. 

Still, he finds himself pulling out his phone, scrolling blearily through his contacts until he finds _Dr. Robert Nash_ and hits call before he can think better of it. He doesn’t pay too much attention to what he says as he rambles into Bobby’s voicemail—the point is that he would very much like Buck’s number because he needs to talk to him and also might be in love with him so could Bobby please call him back?

He’s just about finished when the door opens again and Lena freezes, staring in slowly dawning horror.

“Oh my god, I said _tomorrow_ , I can’t believe—” She shakes her head and takes his phone, ending the call as she shoves a glass of water into his hands instead.

“Idiot,” she says, fondness mixed with exasperation. “Drink that. I’m confiscating this. No more drunk dialing.”

Eddie drinks his water. Then, he follows Lena back inside to fall asleep on her couch.

He forgets about the phone call.

And then, on Monday morning, he gets two texts from an unknown number.

 _This is Bobby Nash_ , the first message reads. _Got your voicemail. This is my cell if you ever need it. But let’s not speak of this again. Take care._

The second is another number, and in parentheses afterwards, _Buck_

Eddie groans and puts his head in his hands. 

_Put on your big boy pants and call him yourself_. Lena’s words echo in his head. He peeks through his fingers at the number on the screen until it dims and finally goes dark.

He will. He’ll call, he tells himself.

Eventually.

And then, Eddie shoves his chair back, leaving his phone on his desk, and goes to do the dishes he left in the sink at breakfast instead. 

  
  


* * *

If there’s one thing Buck hates, it’s feeling like he’s missed something. And the more time that passes since January and South America, the stronger that feeling gets.

It doesn’t help that his mind has taken to tormenting him at night with filthy reminders of Eddie’s hands on him, his mouth, his body, and then fantasies of more—soft beds and skin-to-skin contact and being stretched out and fucked senseless—

If it was just sex though, he could handle that. Before Eddie, he hadn’t gotten laid in ages and hasn’t since either. A hot fantasy, that’s whatever, he’s a young guy with a sex drive.

But sometimes it’s not sex. One notable night he dreamed about nothing but being kissed for hours. Another, it was Eddie’s eyes and a soft smile directed at him across a table, and waking up with strong arms around him and the feeling of safety, security. 

He runs away to El Salvador in April, trying to distract himself, but it doesn’t work. For once, he finds himself looking over his shoulder in a hopeful way, wishing Eddie would show up despite knowing he’s probably preparing for the end of the semester, wondering what he would think about Buck’s project, if he would be impressed—

 _You’re an idiot,_ Buck tells himself. _He hates you. It was a hatefuck. A one-time thing._

But it doesn’t hit with the same confidence it had before. Because Eddie may have teased him and taken the credit for the find—yes, Buck can admit once he gets some distance that Eddie _technically_ had been there first—but Eddie also kissed him again before he left the cave, softer and slower and somehow sweet, skimming his fingers gently over Buck’s jaw before pulling away. A caress that felt almost like a promise. A touch that still has him confused and twisted up months later. 

By July, Buck’s back home in Philadelphia, but no closer to forgetting about Eddie. 

“You should be here,” Bobby says over the phone when the second week rolls around and with it the annual conference of archaeology and anthropology.

Buck cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulls a carton of juice out of the refrigerator, knocking the door with his hip to close it.

“Just because I work with your department sometimes doesn’t make me an academic,” he replies. “Besides, nobody really wants to hear what I have to say in D.C. anyway.”

“That’s debatable, but even if it was true, it isn’t after today.”

Buck pauses. “What do you mean?”

Bobby is quiet for a moment before saying, “You know, Eddie Diaz from UT-Austin gave a great presentation today. On the importance of consulting with and uplifting voices from impacted communities when engaged in artifact recovery and restoration rather than just going through government agencies.”

“Okay.” Buck drags out the last syllable, hoping for more than that. But Bobby just hums.

“Thought you might find it interesting is all,” he replies. “They recorded the session, it’s on the conference website.”

Buck leaves the juice on the counter in favor of grabbing his laptop, interest—or at least suspicion—well and truly piqued. 

“Not going to tell me anything else?” He asks as he types.

“It’ll be obvious when you get there,” Bobby says. He pauses again and clears his throat. “Buck...I don’t suppose you’ve...heard from him lately?”

Buck stops as the website comes up. “Eddie?” He feels the ghost of a kiss across his mouth. “No? Why—why would I hear from Eddie?”

“No reason. No reason at all.”

“Bobby—”

“I should get going, my next session’s starting soon,” Bobby interrupts. “Enjoy the presentation, Buck.”

He hangs up before Buck can get another word in, leaving him to stare at the phone with narrowed eyes. When he tosses it aside, he scrolls through the conference website until he finds Eddie’s talk.

His main impression for most of it is that he agrees with everything Eddie has to say...and also that Eddie looks really good saying it. He exudes a quiet confidence, his hands moving while he speaks, and the thin wire-framed glasses and navy suit he’s wearing are very different from anything Buck’s seen him wear in the field.

Buck bites his lip as he considers pushing the suit jacket off of Eddie’s shoulders and getting his mouth on that collarbone again. He can admit, he gets a little distracted—until he hears his name. He rewinds thirty seconds to catch the full question.

“Professor Diaz, you seem to have focused primarily on other academics, but I can’t help wondering—do you think independent actors like Evan Buckley and others also need to be held accountable for failures to engage appropriately with these issues? It seems like they may be more ‘at fault’ so to speak due to having more institutional leeway.”

Eddie holds up a hand. “Let’s be clear,” he says, “I agree with the premise of the question that independent actors should be held to the same standards I’m proposing here and held accountable. But I have to push back a little on painting all independent actors with the same brush. I’ve worked with Evan Buckley on a number of occasions over the years and I’ve never found him to have anything but the highest respect for the work and the communities and cultures to which many of these artifacts belong. And I myself have found him to be an extraordinary asset to our field and an incredible colleague. So while certainly there’s much more potential for abuse among individuals who don’t have to answer to as many institutional authorities, I would say it’s a case-by-case assessment.”

Buck stares at the screen, blinking once, twice.

_What?_

He reaches for his phone.

 _You’re more plugged into the community than I am,_ he texts. _Does Eddie Diaz hate me?_

Maddie texts back almost immediately. _???????? What?????? Eddie Diaz has never hated you, he thinks you’re amazing and defends you every chance he gets. ...why?_

Buck shuts his laptop, cutting the recording off mid-sentence. He leaves the phone on the counter as he goes to take a shower.

Clearly, he has some things to think about.

* * *

Every year, the Grant-Nash Foundation has a summer camp to get kids interested in archeology and similar fields. Every year, Eddie’s been busy—digs and expeditions don’t happen by themselves, for one thing, and for another he spends the rest of the year herding cats (sorry, college students) so why would he want to do it on his time off, too?

But this year, he made the mistake of talking to Maddie Buckley-Han in front of Christopher, and Maddie (the traitor) asked if Christopher was interested in Bobby and Athena’s camp, and Christopher is, of course, so then when he went to sign Christopher up, Bobby talked him into volunteering.

It’s a good thing, or so his sisters and Lena are all happy to tell him. He’ll get to be with Christopher all the time, doing what he loves, it’s not as stressful as dealing with the bureaucracy of wrangling cooperation between different museums and governments, and there are no papers to grade.

Eddie’s just not… really a kids person.

He loves Christopher. He wasn’t really _there_ the first few years, scared of fatherhood, scared of this role that had jumped out at him and surprised him when he didn’t expect it, and so he buried himself in his studies instead. But then Shannon hoofed it and Eddie had no choice but to step up and he did, and he has, and now he wouldn’t trade his son for anything in the world. But that doesn’t mean he’s good with kids in general.

Bobby’s sympathetically put Eddie with the older ones, the preteens, which is a bit better, and it means he can keep an eye on…

Eddie pauses, halfway towards Christopher with a bottle of water to make sure he’s hydrated.

Is that Buck?

* * *

Buck _loves_ kids.

He volunteers at Bobby and Athena’s archaeology camp every summer. It’s better than having to butt heads with all the digs that take place in the summer, and he’s usually in the middle of the red-tape-post-dig part of things by now anyway. He’s a lone wolf and he likes it that way. Or at least, it’s easier that way.

Not to mention, he grew up in this world, and he knows how important the humanities are, how so often history is a tool used to rewrite a nation’s story, how too soon people forget, or have their past erased. If he can help kids on their journey to learning about that… sometimes he thinks it’s the most important work he’s ever done.

Also kids are just fucking hysterical.

There’s a new kid this year, a curly-haired, quiet boy with crutches who tends to sit by himself. Buck finishes his morning duties and then jogs over to check on him, make sure he’s happy and not feeling left out or anything.

“Hey.” Buck comes to sit down next to him. “I’m Buck, I’m one of the counselors, and I thought I knew everyone around here… but I don’t know you.” He squints at the kid dramatically. “You aren’t a _spy,_ are you? Trying to steal our dig findings?”

The kid giggles. “No, I’m Christopher. Who steals dig findings?”

“All sorts of nefarious people, haven’t you seen Indiana Jones?”

Christopher shakes his head. “That was World War II, Buck.” His voice is amused and soft.

“Ah, right, silly me.”

Christopher goes back to his work and Buck observes for a moment, taking him in. He’s gentle and quiet in a way that most kids his age aren’t.

“You’re good at this,” Buck notes, watching as Christopher carefully and accurately brushes away at the dirt.

“My dad taught me,” Christopher says, his voice full of soft pride.

“Oh, yeah? Your dad’s an archeologist?”

“The best in the world,” Christopher says, his voice solemn. Then he lowers it. “But I don’t want to be an archeologist. I want to be a paleontologist. I like dinosaurs.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Buck promises, already in love with this kid.

“Do you know my dad?” Christopher asks.

“Maybe.” Buck smiles to hide his wince. “Not everybody likes me all that much, though.”

He’s aware he’s a controversial figure, also aware he’s cultivated that reputation, and most of the time he doesn’t mind it. It’s been bothering him lately, though.

Ever since he watched Eddie’s video, in fact.

Christopher pats Buck’s hand. “I think you’re pretty okay. For an adult.”

Buck snorts. “Thanks.”

Christopher looks at something over Buck’s shoulder and smiles. “That’s my dad.” He waves. “Hi Dad!”

Buck turns and… oh fuck.

Standing about ten feet away, holding a water bottle and staring at them, is Eddie Diaz.

 _Fuck_.

The thing is...the thing is...Buck really has meant to call him. Ever since the conference, since Maddie finished her dinner and immediately called him following their brief text exchange and dropped a number of other revelations in his lap, namely that she and Eddie see each other at least once a year at the conference and that she’s only avoided talking about it with Buck because she _thought they were in a relationship or at least getting there but she didn’t want to push Buck after Abby_. So...yeah, maybe Buck’s spent a few weeks reevaluating his life choices and assumptions and meant to call to ask something along the lines of _hey, have you been flirting with me for three years_ or _so when we fucked in that cave, was that like...a real thing_ or even just _it’s been brought to my attention that I’m an idiot, also I think you’re brilliant and really hot, can I come to Texas and suck your dick like I’ve been wanting to for months_.

...maybe he hasn’t quite decided on the right wording. It’s a work in progress.

But the point is, he _has_ been meaning to call, he’s just chickened out every time he picked up the phone.

And now Eddie is standing in front of him, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck and a light flush across his cheeks that Buck’s pretty sure has less to do with the summer heat and more to do with the fact that the last time they saw one another involved orgasms.

And maybe a little bit to do with the way they are apparently standing in front of Eddie’s kid—a kid that Buck hadn’t realized he had.

Not that Eddie having a kid is a problem. In fact, sort of the opposite of a problem, _not_ that Buck should be thinking about—

Buck clears his throat roughly, shaking off his surprised stupor. “Um, hey. Eddie. It’s—it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah? I mean—” Eddie coughs and glances away, his cheeks coloring a little darker. “It’s good to see you, too.”

He also seems to snap out of his own frozen shock and shakes his head, closing the rest of the distance and kneeling down next to Christopher, uncapping the water bottle and pulling a straw out of his pack before passing them both over to the boy.

“I see you met my kid,” he adds before turning his attention on Chris. “How are you doing, buddy? Having fun?” He glances up at Buck, a faint grin flickering across his mouth. “Keeping this one in line?”

Buck’s startled into a laugh. “Hey now—”

Chris rolls his eyes at his dad’s teasing. “You’re the adult, dad. Pretty sure that’s your job.”

Buck’s eyes meet Eddie’s as his thoughts turn a direction that makes his face flush before he slams the door on that line of thought. Although, from the way Eddie’s eyes spark, he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one with a wandering mind.

“Buck!” 

Buck glances over his shoulder at his name, seeing two of the younger kids in another sandpit waving him over. 

“Well, Chris, it looks like you’re in good hands, so I should run,” he admits. “But maybe I’ll see you later.”

He nods at Eddie. “Eddie.”

He makes it barely halfway to the next pit when he hears his name again, this time as Eddie catches up with him.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Eddie says, the words rushing out like if he doesn’t make them now he’ll never get them out. “But, um—do you—do you want to...talk? Later?” 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “Yeah, I’d—I’d like that. A lot.”

Eddie blows out a breath, a relieved smile lifting the corners of his mouth as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Right. Okay. I’ll—I’ll find you. After dinner?”

“It’s a date.” The phrase trips off Buck’s tongue and his cheeks warm, but he doesn’t regret it when Eddie ducks his head and laughs.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He opens his mouth again, but then thinks better of it, just offers Buck a smile before turning and jogging away. 

Buck spends the rest of the afternoon playing in the dirt with a bunch of seven-year-olds feeling lighter than air with a flutter of expectation in his stomach.

* * *

Eddie doesn’t actually manage to find time to get Buck alone until after lights out for all the kids, which is just long enough to allow his brain to run wild with worst-case scenarios. But he quiets them by coming back to Buck’s eyes, softer than he’d ever seen them before when he said _it’s a date_. He’s fairly certain that Buck isn’t upset with him at least—the secondary concern that reared its head and has stopped him from calling himself since getting Buck’s number in June.

He catches Buck’s eyes as he approaches the fire where those adults not on cabin duty have been milling around and nods at the trees nearby. Buck gets up and starts in that direction and Eddie catches up, eventually falling into step next to the other man in silence.

“So...Christopher seems like a great kid,” Buck says, finally breaking the silence when they’re far enough into the trees that they’re out of view from everyone else.

“He is,” Eddie replies. 

“I didn’t know you were a dad.” Buck glances at him sidelong and adds, “Not that that’s a bad thing.”

Eddie leans back against a nearby tree, shoving his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do with them.

“I’m...a little protective, I guess,” he admits. “And private. It’s not a secret or anything like that, but once it comes up, some people feel like they have the right to ask questions that aren’t really their business which can be...uncomfortable.”

Buck nods, looking thoughtful as his teeth catch his lower lip.

“Some people?”

“You can ask if you want,” Eddie replies. “I don’t mind.”

“His mom?”

Eddie sighs and stares up at the sky. Out in the wilderness, away from the light pollution of the city, the stars are so bright and clear. Gives him something else to focus on as he wets his lips.

“She left when he was five. Hasn’t been back. That’s actually why I never finished my dissertation—I was still in the middle of it when she did and the department was willing to let me substitute _experiential skills_ for a degree. So I’m gone for a few weeks every year doing digs or expeditions, and the rest of the time I get a teaching schedule that lets me pick him up from school almost every day. Not the worst trade-off.”

“He thinks you’re the best archaeologist in the world,” Buck says. “Seems like you’re doing fine.”

Eddie laughs. “Well, he’s met you now, Indiana Jones, so that might change.”

Buck grins and shakes his head. “Nah. Pretty sure you’ve got that title locked down. You, um—you’ve got my vote too. For the record.”

Eddie ducks his head at praise and silence falls again, until Buck coughs.

“So, uh—the thing is—I’m really bad at this,” he confesses. “Kind of epicaly bad actually. See, I got my heart broken a few months before we met and I was trying so hard not to even consider the possibility of anyone else that I maybe, kind of misinterpreted...everything. About you. And me. And how I...felt about you.”

Eddie looks up and Buck is closer, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, shy insecurity written on his face.

“Felt?” Eddie asks.

Buck huffs a laugh. “Feel,” he corrects. “How I _feel_ , present tense. About you.”

“When I asked you if you wanted to find the Fenn treasure with me, I meant _with_ me,” Eddie says. “Not as a competition, as—I thought it would be fun. Like—”

“A date?” 

Eddie pushes off the tree. “I have been reliably informed that I am also really bad at this,” he replies. “And kind of an idiot. And also that if I insist on flirting like a middle schooler at recess, I have no one to blame but myself if it doesn’t work out.”

Buck hums. “Sounds like we’re a hell of a pair,” he says. He looks at Eddie and grins. “Okay.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Buck holds out his hand. “Just go with it.”

Eddie slowly reaches out and takes it. Buck promptly shakes his hand. 

“Evan Buckley, adventurer extraordinaire—but my friends call me Buck. Nice to meet you Professor...?”

Eddie laughs, catching on. “Eddie Diaz,” he says with a wry grin. “Best archaeologist in the world according to exactly two people.”

“Well, Professor Diaz,” Buck positively purrs, amusement sparking in his eyes, “can I take you out to dinner sometime? Because I have a feeling we could be pretty damn great together.”

“Depends,” Eddie replies, unable to resist a tease.

“On?”

He sways in. “What are your thoughts on kissing before the first date?”

“I’ll have you know, I am a _gentleman_ ,” Buck manages with a straight face before cracking and sliding his hand around the back of Eddie’s neck. He presses his forehead to Eddie’s, eyes fluttering closed, and adds quietly, “and I’ve been waiting eight months to kiss you again, so if you don’t—”

Eddie takes the implied offer and swallows the rest of the sentence as he closes the gap. 

They don’t make it back to camp for a long while.

* * *

_One Year Later_

“Sure, honey,” Buck grumbles as another veritable river of sweat drips down the back of his neck, further dampening his already soaked shirt. “Let’s honeymoon in the rainforest during the height of summer, that sounds like a great idea.”

“You know as well as I do this humidity stays the same year-round,” Eddie teases, coming up from behind and knocking his hip into Buck’s as he passes. “Besides, it’s fun. An adventure.”

“Beaches,” Buck shoots back. “Beaches could be fun. A cabana in the sun and really strong drinks with little umbrellas. A honeymoon suite with silk sheets and a giant bathtub—strawberries and champagne and having nothing to do but have sex all day. A lot, a _lot_ of sex.”

Eddie snorts. “You would have gotten bored with lying on a beach in a day.”

“Maybe, but the potential sex marathon would have kept my attention for at least a week.” Buck gestures at his face and sweat-soaked shirt. “This? Not sexy.”

“Agree to disagree,” Eddie replies, reaching out and tugging him in by his collar for a positively filthy kiss. 

Buck hums and presses into it. “Want to see if there are any convenient caves around here?” He jokes. “Could be just like old times.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.”

“And yet you married me,” Eddie points out as he pulls back.

Buck grins and reels him in again.

_Yeah. I sure as hell did._


End file.
